


Champagne

by jookyunpie



Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: Gen, platonic??? or romantic?? idk you decide, zuwoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 13:12:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jookyunpie/pseuds/jookyunpie
Summary: Seokwoo and Juho might be alone. But at least they're together.





	Champagne

His head was pounding. Blood roared in his hears, leaving a trail of overpowering heat in its wake. It scorched trails under every vulnerable bit of his skin, somehow igniting a feverish heat under his clothes. His stomach remained coiled in his gut, as his body shuddered as he struggled to keep himself together. In the small bathroom, the stench of his alcohol-tinged breath, together with his sweat, was making his head spin nauseatingly. He lost his breath too often.

 

His bones felt like they were filled with lead. His head hurt. He had lost all sensing in his fingers. His mouth felt like he had swallowed the Sahara Desert. His lips had cracks all over them, and his eyelashes were clumped together and he blinked harshly to pull them apart, feeling every bit of motion sending waves of fatigues across his body and a pounding throughout his head.

 

He sat up, and through his blurry alcohol-ridden vision, he could see the time on his watch. **02:04**. It was a late (early?) hour, but it didn’t carry that kind of feeling. Through his muddled brain, the thoughts were racing uselessly - pieces of information and flashes of images he couldn’t quite put together. It was that frustrating feeling - everything was where it should be, at the tip of his fingers but the boy couldn’t bring himself to make sense of it.

 

The walls of the bathroom were vibrating with the loud music that seemed to slam against his eardrums like hammers. As he stumbled into the bathtub and looked out the window, he saw the lawn alight with painted bodies, neon paint glowing in the sea of blacklight that left the dark green spotted with colours so bright, the stars seemed to have been outshone.

 

The stench of alcohol hit him nauseatingly hard, making his head reel again and the world tilt under his feet. He climbed out of the tub, falling once hard on his knees and then struggling to open the door. It felt like a chore to move, as if he had to dig through the files of his memory simply to understand how to pilot his body.

 

The door opened with a jarring click and ‘bang’, as it slammed against the tiled bathroom wall, making his teeth rattle with the sound. He stumbled out, feeling the plush comfort of the thick carpet that stretched across the floor as his toes dug into the fabric. In contrast to the white spotless bathroom, the outside world was a mess of colour that seemed to swim out of their lines and blend together in a nauseating swirls of flavour and lights. His stomach turned as his eyes tried to focus, but once again, his eyes were watering and the alcoholic vapour filled his senses.

 

The world seemed to be taking on a entirely different life of its own - a kind that his mind knew was completely opposite from what was going on. He clutched his head, trying to force his vision on the stairway in front of him as he placed one bare foot after another, trying to orientate himself towards the exit.

 

He stumbled on the next step, and went tumbling forward, landing with a thump and then curling on himself as the pain radiated throughout his body like unstoppable ripples of agony. The pain blossomed on different spots of his torso, and he was certain small bruises were already colouring his body. He curled his toes, trying to return the feeling to the rest of his body but the alcohol had taken over most of his senses like an apparition seeping into his body controls.

 

He tried to recall anything - any memory that would explain why he was at this stupid party in the first place, on the floor with the bitter taste of vodka and something else stuck on his tongue. His lips were chapped, their rough grooves fitting together tightly as he licked them so that he could pull them apart and wheeze out another breath.

 

He lay there.

 

He didn’t know for how long. Maybe long enough to have learnt to predict his next heartbeat, or to have familiarised himself with the music that travelled through the walls, or to have timed his breathing to the beats that shook the whole house. He lay there and continued to lay there, his mind stuck in this inescapable abyss of amnesia, struggling to come up with any profound memory. In the gloom, there was sadness, expectations, memories of feelings but not why he felt them.

 

Then, came the sound of footsteps. Hurried. Steady. Towards him. The dull thump of heavy boots on the floor, rippling across the floor and reaching his ears. The sound turned over in his head as he watched an approaching shape that began to take definition as the blurriness cleared and a familiar face appeared.

 

Slanting jaw, sharp eyes. The boy that approached him had a beauty blueprinted by the many curves and slopes on his features. The planes of his face were hidden by the shadow and bathed in the dim yellow light, his eyelashes casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones, his lips pulled into a tight line, and eyebrows knitted into a frown. He bent down to the boy on the floor, the dip of his collarbone becoming more pronounced as if it had been redrawn meticulously by an artist’s brush.

 

“Seokwoo, what the fuck are you doing here?” He asked the boy on the floor.

 

Seokwoo. He should have known the origins of that name, and it was like a murky reflection of memory in the pit of memories that was filled to the brim with liquid intoxication.

 

Seokwoo was horribly drunk.

 

He shifted, tried to say something, but his unintelligible words turned into a groan. With an effort, he managed to pull one name. “Juho,” He murmured. Okay, that was progress.

 

“Get up,” Juho said, taking him by the arms and heaving him, “You answered none of my calls, disappeared in the middle of the night, with no note, no message. You didn’t even tell Inseong. Do you have any idea how worried we’ve all been?” He continued to reprimand Seokwoo, his every word drilling a hole into the younger boy’s skull.

 

“Hyung, please…” Seokwoo managed through a grimace, as he clung to Juho’s arms, thankful for the help as he finally found his footing and hung onto his friend for support. In the midst of the shivers that made his body tremble, Juho’s warmth flowed into him like medicine, waking up the rest of his body enough for him to manage at least the slightest bit of his own weight. Contrary to Juho’s harsh voice, his hands were gentle as the wrapped Seokwoo’s arm around his neck and the other grabbed him by the waist. Seokwoo was all too aware of Juho’s steady body, and strong shoulders that bore his weight and began to half carry and half drag him towards the door.

 

Seokwoo’s head lolled against his control and his eyes met the floor, making his stomach lurch. “Hyung, why’s the ground so far away?”

 

Juho’s body trembled with the slightest hint of laughter. “Your head’s too far away from the ground.”

 

With amazing skill, he brought his foot up, balancing on one leg as well as managing Seokwoo’s weight, and turned the door handle, throwing it open and pulling his friend out.

 

Seokwoo struggled the next few steps, muttering whatever words came to his mouth and Juho stayed silent as he opened the car door and helped Seokwoo into a seat. Everything inside smelt like spice and wine.

 

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

 

* * *

  


He was on his bed this time, and Juho had pulled the covers up to his neck. His whole body was burning with warmth now, blood pounding through the veins under every inch of his skin, bringing life back to his previously cold limbs. He smelt spice and wine again. _Why_ did he smell spice and wine?

 

“Come on, get up,” Juho said, pushing him up into sitting position and thrusting a glass into his hands. When Seokwoo made no move, Juho forced it to his lips and the taste of something too sour and too sweet hit his tongue at the same time, making him cough violently.

 

“What were you doing at the party?” Juho asked. There was no anger in his voice this time. Only resignation, as if he knew the answer already and if he did, Seokwoo wondered, why did he still bother to ask that question?

 

“I had nowhere else to go,” Seokwoo replied, the words sounding so familiar on his tongue, he paused to wonder how many times he had said it. The words carry something else with them - a melancholy that hit his heart like an arrow through its centre, an abandonment that tore at his heartstrings and all at once, the agony returned again and for no particular understandable reason, tears filled his eyes and splashed down on his cheeks like an uncontrollable waterfall.

 

_“I had nowhere else to go.”_

 

As if somehow repeating it would make the feeling go away. As if anything would ever make that feeling go away.

 

“You do have somewhere to go,” Juho insisted, his words sounding weary. As if he had said this a number of times. “You’re going to end up killing yourself at this rate. Your virtues should never bear the price of your actions taken to satisfy your vices.”

 

“I want to go home,” Seokwoo replied. _Home_. That word with no meaning. For a modern day nomad like Seokwoo, home should have been easy to find.

 

“You’re always welcome at my home,” Juho said. His voice sounded sad now.

 

Seokwoo could sense the genuine concern in his voice, but why was his brain interpreting that as pity? “I don’t want your fucking sympathy,” Seokwoo said.

 

“I’m not - “

“Don’t lie to me.”

 

There was a long silence, filled with nothing but the sound of silent crying, and the taste of salt from his tears on his tongue.

 

He felt exhausted. Empty. Vacant. With nothing left to give - nothing but his habit of giving more than he kept. Until he’d traded out all the pieces of his heart for meaningless shared moments with people who didn’t even care about him, never loved back the same way.

 

There was no reason for Juho to be any different.

 

“I want to sleep,” Seokwoo insisted.

 

“Do you want me to stay?”

 

 _You won’t stay_ , Seokwoo thought. “Yes,” Seokwoo replied.

 

The bedsheet shifted, and Seokwoo felt the mattress sag as Juho climbed in next to him and instinctively, he turned, curling into his friend. Juho’s response was immediate, his hand going around Seokwoo’s shoulders protectively, rubbing his shoulder soothingly as the younger boy snuggled in further until his face was pressed into his companion’s shoulder.

 

He was instantly hit by the heady scent of powerful champagne, as alluring as the taste itself. Out of all the other meaningless hours of that night, Seokwoo had never been as intoxicated as he was when he found home in Juho’s arms.

 

“Why won’t you just leave?” Seokwoo whispered. “Why stretch this out if you’re going to leave anyway?”

 

“I’m not going to leave.”

 

“Everyone else has. Why won’t you?”

 

There was a pause. Their conversation that night felt full of pauses. Silences that spoke louder than their words. Finally, in a soft and submissive voice, a sound that signified resignation. Retreat.

 

_“I have nowhere else to go.”_

 

One sentence. That sentence spoke volumes. A language which stretched far across the chasms of their loneliness, a string that connected both hearts, a solidarity that overpowered their melancholy.

  
_Home_ , Seokwoo thought.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: snugglemingyu


End file.
